


The Gang's All Here

by tsuki_llama



Category: Darker Than Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-14 05:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11201748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsuki_llama/pseuds/tsuki_llama
Summary: Huang meets his new team members, and is less than impressed.





	1. Chapter 1

" _Huang_ , huh?" Huang, nee Kuno, said sourly, taking a gulp of sake. He was getting tired of code names. Especially stupid code names. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It doesn't matter," his companion replied.

Huang had never learned the man's name, code or otherwise. In his head he called him Baseball Hat Guy, because whenever they met he wore a baseball cap low over his face to hide his features. Probably trying to hide a balding spot, too. Handling one asset at a time was stressful enough; Huang did not envy this guy his job.

"We always use Chinese code names with this particular asset," Baseball Hat Guy continued. "That's all."

"Yeah? So who is this asset?" His _last_ asset had been a contractor by the name of Paransaek. Fucking stupid name. Fucking stupid contractor, getting himself killed by another operative.

Huang pushed aside a stab of guilt at the memory; he'd told the idiot that the crowd was too big for him to be assured a clean shot with his sniper rifle, and that they should wait for a better opportunity to make the hand off. It wasn't his fault that Paransaek overestimated Huang's ability and went in anyway. He was just an asset; not a partner. Huang hadn't worked with partners since he'd left the police, and he couldn't allow himself to think of assets as such.

It was easier said than done.

Baseball Hat Guy glanced around the tiny sake stand before answering, though they were clearly the only ones there. Aside from the server of course - but as he was deaf (or hearing impaired, or whatever the hell you were supposed to say these days) and in the Syndicate's employ, it hardly made a difference. "We'll get to that. Let's start with his support team."

Support team? Huang was used to his little one-man show. What was this, some kind of large-scale operation? He didn't like it. Do the job, then send the asset on his way. No muss no fuss. That was what he liked.

The other man slid a manila folder sideways across the bar top to Huang, who set his sake aside to open it. A thin sheaf of papers was inside. The top sheet contained a color headshot of a young woman with pale, almost silver, blonde hair and large hooded eyes. At first glance she was cute, but the empty expression in those eyes told him exactly what she was.

"I hate working with dolls," Huang grunted, half to himself. "Fucking creepy."

"Your reconnaissance doll - a water medium," Baseball Hat Guy said, ignoring the commentary. "Code name _Yin_. She's programmed with high-end functionality for independent living, with full fluency in Japanese and English. We've set up a small tobacco shop in Shinjuku for her to live and work in; you'll have to check on her daily and bring her meals, but otherwise she can feed and care for herself, as well as operate the store."

"Expensive," Huang couldn't help saying as he flipped absently through the pages that detailed her surprisingly long history with the Syndicate. The dolls that he was accustomed to working with typically had the barest programming - observe and report, nothing more. They needed twenty-four-hour care and were only brought in on a per-job basis, when absolutely necessary. Baseball Hat Guy could claim this doll was independent all he wanted, but Huang could read between the lines. This was a babysitting job. But such expensive programming, a place for her to live and work - this wasn't going to be the typical one-off sort of deal. "This a long-game operation then?"

"Six months," his companion answered.

Huang only grunted in response. Six months of having to put up with the same set of freaks? Wouldn't this be fun.

When this operation was done, he was going to ask for a transfer, he decided. A new city somewhere. He'd never asked before, because he knew what the answer would be: they needed his knowledge of Tokyo, his dubious connections in the police. They needed him here.

And he was getting so sick of it, sick of having to stay in this godforsaken city, under the looming shadow of the Gate. He got a new code name with each new operation, but underneath it all he was still Kuno Kiyoshi. Still the disgraced detective, who had to pretend like life as a civilian was all fine and dandy whenever he bumped into a former colleague on the street. He envied contractors sometimes, freaks though they were. When their mission was done, they moved on - new city, new name, new identity. Everything in the past was forgotten, left behind.

But it had been seven years already - the Syndicate owed him.

"She's implanted with a GPS tracker in case something goes wrong," Baseball Hat Guy was saying. "But we don't anticipate any problems - it's one of the best packages we have. Just don't lose her; she'll be expensive to replace. Next, your secondary." He slid another folder over.

Huang couldn't help raising an eyebrow as he opened it. A secondary contractor? This was a serious team, then, more serious than the simple information gathering that he'd done with his previous assets - what kind of jobs would they be doing here, exactly?

The eyebrow rose even higher when he saw the photo inside. "What the hell is this?"

Baseball Hat Guy chuckled; the sound was unnerving. "Don't let appearances fool you; Mao's a pro. Body hijacker. He's limited to animals, but that just gives him an advantage. No one pays any attention to a cat skulking in the shadows."

"You telling me that animals can become contractors too?" At this point, not even that would surprise him. The Gates had fucked the world good and hard, after all. He ran his eyes down the page. Messier code FL-228. Obeisance: paid in full. No inconvenient payment, then - that was a bonus, though Huang had never heard of a contract being completed before. Still, how many times had an operation almost been blown because his asset had had to stop and dance a jig or stuff his mouth with marbles or whatever other nonsense? Fucking weirdos.

"Of course not. He was inhabiting the body of a cat when his human body was killed in an explosion a few years ago. But his human mind was unharmed. This feline body is equipped with a radio and an uplink to the Syndicate's servers. Mao can interface directly with a few networks we've given him access to, and he's smart. You can rely on him."

Fat chance, Huang thought sourly. A contractor was a contractor, cat or no. You couldn't trust any of them.

"Mao doesn't need any supervision; he'll live in the back of the tobacco shop as a neighborhood stray. Just be sure to bring him some canned salmon when you check on Yin."

Huang downed another shot of sake. A cat. Paid in fish. "Fucking hell."

"He's the cheapest contractor we have on the payroll," Baseball Hat Guy guy smiled wryly at his stupid joke. "But his skill is undeniable, and he should make a perfect foil to your primary asset." He slid a third folder over.

Huang couldn't suppress a tiny bit of curiosity as he opened it. A fancy doll and a fucking cat - who was the fourth member of their little team of freaks?

The sheaf of papers inside was thick - obviously this asset had a long and busy history with the organization. The headshot on the cover page was unimpressive: a dark-haired kid, maybe a little older than a teenager. It was technically in color, but Huang doubted it would look any different in monochrome, the kid's face was so pale, what little was visible of his clothing all black. The dull, dead look in his eyes made Huang think that he must be a doll at first; but then Huang saw the Messier number.

"You've got to be kidding," he managed at last, his throat suddenly dry and parched.

"His code name is Hei," BGH said calmly, as if he wasn't talking about the Syndicate's most notorious killer, a contractor who Huang had always doubted even existed. "While in Tokyo he'll be using the alias Li Shengshun - a foreign exchange student from Beijing."

As the man talked, Huang kept reading. Messier code: BK-201. Alias: The Black Reaper. Ability: Electrical conductance. Obeisance: unknown. Confirmed kills -

"You've got to be fucking kidding." Huang looked at the photo again. The kid appeared young, far too young to have this sort of history. Even if he _was_ a contractor.

"Most of the jobs for this operation will probably require getting in and out of high security facilities, some of which may employ top tier contractors of their own. For that kind of work, Hei is the best choice."

High security facilities - in Tokyo, that usually meant the Gate or Pandora. Huang suppressed a shudder. Just so long as he didn't have to go anywhere near that hellhole.

"We've also received intelligence that an increasing number of foreign operatives are moving into the city," the man continued. "Likely after the same targets. Confrontations will be unavoidable. But Hei is an expert at dealing with such things quickly and quietly."

"Look," Huang said after taking a long swallow of sake, "I don't doubt the kid's ability - I've been hearing rumors and stories ever since the end of that business in South America. But why the hell are you assigning him to me? I deal with the lowlifes and third-rates. And my last asset -" he took another swallow - "well, that didn't go so well."

The man shrugged as he hunched over the bar, seemingly unconcerned. "Your jobs will be straightforward enough. Hei's not exactly a team player; most of his assignments in the last five years have been solo work. But he's a soldier. He spent three years on the front lines in Heaven's War; he knows how to survive, and he knows how to take orders." He took a sip of sake as he appeared to consider his next words. "He does have a tendency to go off script occasionally, but he always gets the job done. Just remind him of the rules every now and again, and you won't have any problems."

"Off script how?"

Baseball Hat Guy hesitated - a bad sign, Huang thought. "You heard about what happened in Bangkok last year?"

"Fuck - everyone's heard about Bangkok! You tellin' me this kid had something to do with that?"

The other man shrugged. "The only answer we could get out of him was that he left a hotplate turned on. We're not really sure why that was important for the job - but the mission was accomplished; that's what matters."

"Fuck," Huang repeated, the blood draining from his face.

"Hei will be on point for all of your missions," Baseball Hat Guy continued, his tone blase. "You, Mao, and Yin are his support; you'll be the liaison between him and the Syndicate. The higher-ups prefer not to have direct contact with their primary assets," he said, the wry tone returning to his voice.

"The hell they don't," Huang said, his eyes riveted to a photograph of the aftermath of the Bangkok incident, one that he recognized from all the news reports. "Contractor like this, decides to betray you? You'd better hope he has no fucking idea who you are." _Which makes_ me _the first guy standing between him and them. Fan-fucking-tastic._

Baseball Hat Guy jerked his head once in agreement, looking smug beneath the bill of his cap. "For what it's worth, in the ten years that he's been with the Syndicate he hasn't once shown any inclination to jump ship - unusual for a contractor, to say the least. We're not really sure what's been keeping him loyal since the end of the war, but the fact is that so far, he has been. Upcoming events may throw a wrench into that, however - another reason we're stationing him here in Tokyo. The higher-ups want to keep a closer eye on him. That's on you - be sure to keep him focused on the mission and to report any hint that he might be straying from the fold."

Huang didn't answer. How the hell was he supposed to do that, if this kid was even half as good as the rumors suggested and he decided to go off-mission?

He continued to flip through the pages. Half of the text was blacked out - far above Huang's paygrade, no doubt. Why the hell had they assigned such a top asset to him, of all people? He finally found a photo that hadn't been redacted, an image from some kind of surveillance feed: BK-201 standing in an empty hallway - empty if you didn't count the five bodies at his feet.

"What's with the creepy mask?" he asked, determinedly _not_ counting the bodies.

"Aside from his impressive record as an assassin, Hei is an expert at deep cover and infiltration. For him to operate at his best, it's imperative that he be able to move about the city in plain sight. If anyone recognizes him, and calls the police, and they show up at his door...well, let's just say that that's a mess we'd rather not have to clean up. This way, anyone who sees him in action will see only his mask, and his identity will remain safe. The fewer bodies he has to leave behind, the better."

Huang nodded absently to himself. The police in this city - Section Four, to be specific - was no joke. If he had a beer for every time Kirihara's brat had gotten close to catching one of his assets, he might have enough to actually get drunk. Hell, she _had_ caught a fair few of them. They hadn't lived long enough to give up any information on the Syndicate - Huang had had to take care of one himself, a necessity that had left a sour taste in his mouth - but that was beside the point.

The man slid one last folder across the bar. "Your first assignment. A researcher has smuggled some Gate-related data out of Pandora; we think she's sold it to a French organization."

Huang opened the folder. Inside was the photo of a young woman in a lab coat, along with a couple of grainier photos of the suspected Frenchmen.

"Have your doll track them down so Hei can retrieve the data."

He didn't reply. It sounded easy enough.

The man stood, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. "I should tell you, the assignments that your team will be getting are vital to the future of the Syndicate. The plans of a decade are close to coming to fruition - don't fuck this up."

Huang was no idiot; he had no idea what the Syndicate's purpose was, but he knew how to tell the difference between a warning and a threat.

"Don't worry," he grunted. "We'll deliver." _Somehow_.


	2. Chapter 2

Huang paced up and down the small hotel room. He'd only been waiting for half an hour, yet had gone through five cigarettes already. It wasn't like him to be this anxious. But he hadn't needed Baseball Hat Guy's not-so-veiled threat to know that these next six months would be a high stakes operation. High stakes for himself, at the very least. He didn't give a shit what happened to the Syndicate's mysterious plans, but if his team - and by extension, Huang - screwed up, then that was it. No second chances, no do-overs, do not pass _Go_ on your way straight to hell.

The first member of his little band of freaks and misfits had been waiting in the room when he'd arrived. The silent doll had been perched on the edge of the bed, her small hands folded neatly in her lap. All dressed up as if on her way to Sunday morning church service. She hadn't said a word when he'd entered, hadn't even looked up. That was good; he was used to dolls being indistinguishable from the furniture. He liked what he was used to.

However, he’d never used a doll with such advanced programming before; he wasn’t really sure how he was supposed to talk to her. _Like she_ _’s just another one of the monsters_ , he decided. _That_ _’s what she is, anyway_. So he pulled out the two photos of the Frenchmen that he’d been given and held them in front of her face. “We need to find these two. One is enough, but both would be better.”

The doll reached up and took the photos without once looking at Huang. 

“Water,” she said quietly. Her voice made his skin crawl. He wasn't used to dealing with dolls who could respond to him as if they understood.

“Hang on.” There was a sink in the bathroom, but he didn’t like the idea of her being out of his sight, even if she was technically in the same room. Instead, he grabbed the small ice bucket from where it sat next to the outdated television and filled it with tap water from the bathroom. Not trusting a doll to manage something complicated like balance a bucket of water and two photographs, he thunked it down on the chest of drawers. A tiny bit sloshed out. “Here,” he said.

The doll seemed to understand. She stood, still holding the photos (Huang wasn’t entirely sure that she’d even looked at them; something was funky about her eyes), and approached the bucket. Then, almost delicately, she placed her free hand in the water.

And stood there. Saying nothing.

She continued to say nothing while Huang spent his first cigarette setting up a map the city across the bed’s stained coverlet, along with a police scanner tuned to Section Four’s usual frequency. There was a lot of chatter about a particular star, but he had no idea if it was one the Frenchies or not; that hadn’t been in the intel. If it _was_ one of their guys, Huang had to make sure that his team got to him first.

If his fucking team ever showed up.

They were supposed to meet at eighteen-thirty. Huang checked his watch: it was one minute til. Still no sign of the other two. He grunted to himself and lit up another cigarette. Number six. If he got lung cancer it would be these goddamn contractors’ fault. Contractors were usually punctual, unless they had a rational reason not to be. Figured he'd get assigned the only two slackers in Tokyo, he thought to himself. So much for the Black Reaper's so-called reputation; kid couldn't even show up on time.

He exhaled a long stream of smoke; the tiny cough that followed was like a foghorn in the otherwise silent room. He turned to the doll - Yin, was it? - to see her standing in the same attitude, still staring blindly at the hand in her bucket of water. Taking another puff, he studied her closely. She coughed again, though her expression never changed.

Well, it was probably reflex. Did dolls have reflexes? He'd never paid any attention.

A scratching sound at the door startled him out of his contemplation. Huang stubbed out the cigarette and strode over to the door. He placed his eye against the peephole and looked out: the hallway was empty.

The scratching sound came again, more insistent this time. Huang narrowed his eyes. Placing one hand on the butt of the pistol tucked discreetly under his coat, he turned the handle and pulled open the door.

And looked down.

A pudgy black cat sauntered in.

"Huang, right?" the cat said in a surprisingly tenor voice. “Took you long enough to answer the door.”

Huang closed the door behind him, struggling to mask his shock. He'd known what to expect, but knowing still hadn't prepared him for the reality. "You must be Mao," he replied gruffly, as if talking cats addressed him on a daily basis. "You're late."

"Relax, I'm right on time." The cat, bell on his collar jingling cheerfully, leapt somewhat heavily onto the bedside table, where the alarm clock read 6:30. The red zero blinked into a one as Huang watched.

The only thing more obnoxious than a cheeky contractor was a cheeky cat. A cat. Fucking hell. "Whatever. We're still missing one."

"Hm." Mao crossed over to the bed, where he gave the motionless doll a once-over before sitting down next to the wrinkled map. She made no indication that she knew he was there. "Everything I've heard about Hei says that he's an exceptionally careful contractor, until he's not. My guess is that he's watching the place from outside, making sure that everything is clear before he makes his presence known."

That sounded like something that a rational contractor would do, Huang thought. Irritating. "Whadduya mean, careful until he's not?"

"Have you read his file? He seems to be fairly impulsive for a contractor - it's strange. I'm very interested to meet him in person."

An _impulsive_ , deadly killer. Great.

"Interested," Huang muttered. "That's one way to put it."

A soft, almost hesitant knock on the door made him nearly jump out of his skin. The cat flinched too, he couldn't help notice with a smidgen of satisfaction.

The satisfaction didn't last long, however - not with the looming prospect of having to open the door to the Black Reaper. Huang wiped his sweating palms on his trousers. _He's just another asset_ , he told himself. _Just another one of the endless line of freak shows that you have to deal with_.

He pressed his eye to the peephole. On the other side of the door was the same kid from the photo - same dead eyes, same lifeless expression. _Here goes nothing_ , Huang thought, and opened the door.

"You Hei?" he asked as the kid slouched in, carrying a black gear bag, a paper shopping bag, and a long cloth-covered case on a shoulder strap.

The kid nodded once, but didn't answer. Outwardly he appeared relaxed, but his eyes darted about the room as expecting to see an enemy in every corner. Hair that needed to be cut, scrawny frame under worn, casual clothes that were one size too big - he looked more like an underfed college student than a deadly assassin.

_Then again, ain't that the point?_ Huang cautioned himself.

"I'm Huang. The cat is Mao."

Hei didn't seem perturbed in the slightest to see that his new partner had four legs and a tail. Rather, he eyed the cat as if sizing up an opponent. Then, seeming to dismiss him (it was a fucking useless _cat_ , after all), he turned his gaze to the doll.

"Oh, right," Huang said. "And that's Yin. Doll," he added, as if it wasn't completely obvious. As when both Huang and Mao had entered, the doll gave no indication that she was aware there was a new arrival.

Hei dropped his packages onto the bed next to the map and sat there, hands stuffed into the pockets of his grubby green jacket.

_The dumb silent type, huh._ Huang motioned to the cloth case. "What's the deal, carryin' somethin' like that all over town? I've got all the sniper gear we'll need." And the kid’s file hadn’t mentioned anything about a proficiency with ranged weapons.

Hei looked down at the case blankly. "It's a telescope," he said with zero inflection.

"A telescope?" Mao wandered over to the case and poked at it with a clawed paw. "Why?"

The kid shrugged minutely. "I like to watch the stars."

Just as weird as the rest of the freaks. Huang shook his head. "Right. Well, looks like the gang's all here, so let's get to it. Here's the mission debrief." The doll had left the photos sitting on the chest, Huang noticed for the first time. He scooped them up and passed them over along with the folder that Baseball Hat Guy had given him.

Hei took it with a total lack of interest. He opened to the first page, eyes skimming over it. Mao moved to look over his shoulder.

"Can cats read?" Huang asked.

The cat gave him what looked like an annoyed glance. "I can read; though I already downloaded the file on my way here."

Half robot, half cat - fucking creepy.

"Gravity nullification and matter exchange," Hei commented.

Huang couldn't tell if he was concerned about what he would be up against, or merely reading aloud. He found himself struggling to buy into the idea that _this_ was the infamous Black Reaper, the Syndicate’s top asset. "That's what it looks like - that a problem?"

"Gravity nullification sounds silly," Mao said, "But if it hits you you're toast - I can't be any help if you're floating up to the stratosphere."

"It's not a problem," was all Hei said. He turned to studying the photos.

“Speaking of problems,” the cat continued, “Your file doesn't have an obeisance listed - anything we need to worry about?"

"No."

They both waited, but the kid didn’t say anything more. “Whatever,” Huang said at last. “We -”

“I have him.”

The doll’s soft voice almost seemed to echo in the room.

Mao leapt up onto the chest next to her ice bucket. “Who?”

“The blond one. Code name _Louie_. He’s on a rooftop five blocks away, moving south on foot.”

Heading south on a rooftop? The statement made no sense, until Huang remembered the creep’s power - gravity nullification. Probably flying around out there like fucking Superman.

“Good,” he said gruffly. “We’ll mobilize from here.”

“Right,” Mao said. “Hei, time to gear up.”

But the kid had already stood and was starting to unbutton his shirt. Then he glanced at the doll, who was still staring into her water. Without a word, he grabbed the handles of his gear bag and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Huang could have sworn that there was a faint blush on his cheeks.

“What the hell?” Huang muttered.

The cat shrugged. “He’s a strange one, it seems. But then, that was pretty obvious from his file.”

Without further comment or concern, the cat turned to study the map, asking Yin for clarifying details. The doll answered each question precisely. Occasionally she paused first; Huang imagined that she must be consulting the specter she had out there on the streets.

It creeped him out, the idea of those invisible ghosts zooming around the city, spying on people. It wasn’t just intelligence or criminal organizations that used them - the police had set up their own network not long after Huang had left the agency. Sometimes he wondered what his former colleagues thought about that; then he’d remember that they probably had no idea. Only Section Four and the specific patrol squads they utilized were in on that little secret.

All those cops out there, ignorant of the true monsters that lurked in the shadows. The world really had gone to hell, hadn’t it. He lit cigarette number seven.

“Huang, you take the doll and get in a better position to track him,” Mao said. “Hei and I will try and cut him off.”

“You’re pretty bossy for a cat.” No way in hell was Huang taking orders from a fucking _cat_ , contractor or not. Baseball Hat Guy could shove his threats up his ass for all Huang cared.

Before Mao could respond, the kid emerged from the bathroom and Huang nearly choked on his cigarette. The too-large street clothes had been replaced by black, form-fitting athletic gear. Gone was the scrawny kid in need of a hot meal; now he could have been mistaken for a professional gymnast.

Black cotton-soled shoes erased the sound of his footsteps as Hei walked back towards the bed, apparently oblivious to the fact that he seemed to have transformed into a totally different person. He dumped his gear bag and pulled on a pair of black gloves, then removed a sheathed dagger from the bag and strapped it around his thigh; he was already wearing a full chest harness that held at least two nasty looking knives that Huang recognized from photos in the Syndicate’s file. _This_ was the killer from that two-inch-thick file, the almost supernatural rumor from out of South America made life.

The killer who blushed at the idea of changing in front of a female doll.

_Fucking weirdos_.

“Is that the jacket?” Mao was saying. Hei had pulled a long black trenchcoat from his gear bag and was shrugging it on.

“What jacket?” Huang vaguely remembered seeing something about that in the file, but his attention had been on the kid’s job records, not his wardrobe.

“It’s made from an experimental material developed from Gate technology,” Mao explained. “The cloth becomes impervious to bullets when a low-grade electrical field is passed through it.”

“Huh,” Huang said. He was about to ask what use that would be if it had to plugged in, when he remembered that BK-201 basically _was_ a low-grade electrical field. At least, if his high school understanding of physics could be trusted. “Does it work?”

“Yes.”

“Outside of a laboratory, I mean?” Lotta good it would do out in the field if the lab tests hadn’t been thorough enough - shit always happened in the field that you couldn’t predict.

“Yes.” Hei’s inflection didn’t change, but the look in his eyes did, and Huang knew that that jacket had been tested _many_ times out in the field.

Huang cleared his throat. “Good. We’re wasting time - let’s get moving. Put your comms on channel three. Yin, you heard the cat - you’re with me.” He had no idea if she’d heard the cat or not, but he was finding that it substantially reduced his feeling of heebie-jeebies if he treated her as if she understood more than she probably did. “Hei, you’re not walkin’ out in the hall like that, are you? Someone sees you, they’re calling the cops.”

In answer, Hei moved over to the window and placed his hand on the wall next to it. Huang nearly choked on his cigarette again when the faint glow of synchrotron radiation outlined the contractor; then there was a sharp _pop_ and the two lamps in the room abruptly went out, plunging them all into darkness.

“The hell are you -”

Light from the city outside streamed in as Hei pulled aside the curtain and opened the window.

That made sense, Huang realized. Leave through a dark window, no one would see him. But still - “A little warning next time, right?” he demanded.

Hei ignored him. He scooped a white object out of his bag - that creepy mask - and settled it over his face. Then he turned to gaze out at the city while Huang tried and failed to suppress a shudder.

“Hang on,” Mao said, sounding nervous for the first time. “We’re three stories up. That may be fine for you, but I’m not -”

But his next words were cut off when Hei gripped him by the scruff of the neck, swung his legs over the window sill, and dropped out of sight. Yin stood watching silently.

His new team. Huang sighed to himself, cigarette burning down to the filter between his lips. This was going to be a long six months.


End file.
